Darkness falls-
No,
Slides, through the air.
Settling like a blanket,
Upon the hearts of men,
Icy hands grips the hearts
Of brave warriors,
Turning honour,
To despair.
She stands,
There,
Away from all of it. Away from all the-
Pain-
Hurt-
Loss-
Fear-
Filth.
Her face has potential.
Able to be lovely,
She instead,
Scarifies it for the fight.
Her eyes are not as youthful as,
A woman of her years,
Should be.
They know that this is war.
No one is young anymore.
As the dawn rises,
It's light, shines too cold.
Weak,
Feeble,
Useless,
Against the evil,
The fear,
The hate,
In the hearts of the men on the battle field.
Fear, dread, panic,
Apprehension-
So many words for so simple a thing.
A certainty falls upon her,
Taking what youth
That was left,
In those,
Possibly,
Potentially,
Beautiful eyes.
She is going to-
Die? Pass on?
Breathe her last?
Perish?
What do words matter?
What does,
Anything,
Matter anymore.
She knows that this
Battle?
War?
Skirmish?
Will be her last.
A smile,
Frosty as fear.
A horn,
Raised to lips,
For a breath from lungs,
That won't,
For much longer.
And one final word,
In the face of death,
She calls:
"Charge"
A/N: Some poetry of a last stand for our dearest Lady Knight.
Depressing enough? Please review; I would like some honest critique for this.